


And Love Too, Will Ruin Us

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Frottage, Guilty Dean, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mentions of Dean/OFC, Negotiations, Porn Watching, Underage Kissing, Underage Sam, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirty gets his dick hard, but Sammy just makes him ache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Love Too, Will Ruin Us

**Author's Note:**

> Ages unspecified. This one's angsty.

“When do we get to do that?”

 

Sam tilts his head to the side, giving Dean a better view of the screen.  Not like Dean’s been watching the movie anyway, not since he got Sam on his lap.

 

Dean keeps right on sucking a wet bruise onto Sam’s neck, right at the curve where it meets his shoulder.  Where his hoodie covers it when Sam’s all zipped up and prickly. Where Dad can’t see.

 

“Do what, Sammy?”

 

Sam’s hair is still damp from the shower. It tickles over the bridge of Dean’s nose as he kisses his way up Sam’s neck, more careful now. Dad thinks all the hickeys peppering Dean’s neck come from the local girls, but Sam’ll need a few more years before he can sell that excuse with any credibility.  Dean kisses, softly, brushing his lips against Sam’s skin.

 

“Like, that stuff.”  Sam huffs, jerking his head until Dean looks at the screen. The sound’s on low so the landlady upstairs won’t complain again.

 

Looks like they’ve reached the Fuckfest part of Fratboy Facial Fuckfest.

 

Dean has stabbed things in the eye and gutted one particularly fragrant slime monster, so he’s not exaggerating when he says getting his hands on some honest to goodness gay porn had been a fucking nightmare.

 

Dean watches while one of the overly-hair-gelled frat boys plows into his frat brother.  They kiss and Dean grins against Sam’s shoulder.

 

“We’re already doin’ _stuff_ , Sammy.”  He slides his free hand up Sam’s chest, searching for one of Sam’s nipples.  That always distracts him.

 

Dean’s not sure what it says about him that he barely sees whatever porn they throw on these days.  He’s human, sure, but Dean’s never seen anything that looks as good as Sam smells when Dean snugs his nose into that little dip at the base of Sam’s skull. He lets his lips fall open, breathing damp against Sam’s drying hair, skin still a little moist and catching against Dean’s mouth.  Sam has always smelled so good.

 

“Dean.”  Sam squirms a little, his hips bucking up into Dean’s waiting hand. It feels good to see the head of Sam’s dick peeking out over the closed circle of Dean’s fist. Sam’s getting so big.

 

Dean strokes him a few times, slow, rubbing around the little pebble of Sam’s nipple at the same time.  Dean loves feeling the goosebumps spring up on Sam’s skin.

 

Sam had met some girl in Tuscaloosa who’d chewed his ear off about the porn-industrial complex and the exploitation of sex workers. Dean had never thought anything but kind and generous thoughts for the deepthroating starlets he’d been showing Sammy his whole life, but Sam’s bitching and moaning had finally worn him down.

 

Dean had almost had a moment there, when Sam had crossed his arms over his chest and pouted and asked if Dean would still watch Hotrod Gangbang: Back With Assvengeance if it was his sister in the movie. Dean had put his mouth around his little brother’s dick before he had hair on his balls and he was not the person to ask about this shit.

 

“Dean.” 

 

Sam used to feel like nothing in his lap, all birdbones and sharp angles.  Dean can feel him now, fuller, stronger, flushed warm where his weight bears down on Dean’s cock, trapped hot between Dean’s belly and Sam’s writhing backside. Sam’s shower-damp skin isn’t the only sticky thing between them.

 

“Like sex stuff, Dean.”  Sam’s voice is a whisper, a mumble, some soft thing that shouldn’t shoot through Dean like this.

 

Sam can suck a dick like a truckstop whore and he throws tantrums when Dean doesn’t get home early enough from whatever shit job he’s picking up to put his tongue in places most people don’t think about, but he can’t even talk about sex without getting all clammed up. Christ knows he has the vocabulary for it, kid’s seen enough porn to recite a sailor’s bible of filth if he wants to.

 

Sam wouldn’t, though, and _fuck_ , fuck if Dean doesn’t throb and sting just from that.

 

Dean’s done dirty shit. He knows what dirty feels like, how it twists up inside you, wriggles down between your legs until you’re hard so fast your nuts get whiplash.  Dean knows the sounds a girl makes when you coax it in her ass, when she’s got a friend who’s waiting her turn.  Dirty feels like that housewife in Duluth who wanted Dean to smack her in the face with his dick.  He’d done it and she’d still given him enough cash for a month’s rent.

 

Dirty gets his dick hard, but Sammy just makes him ache.

 

“Sammy,” Dean shushes, twisting his wrist the way Sam likes.  He knows everything Sam likes because he taught Sam how to like it.

 

“I make you feel good, don’t I?”

 

Dean’s done shit that would make half his favorite porn stars blush but no one makes him come like Sam.  It’s different with Sam, the way Sam gets inside him. Dirty makes him roil on the inside but Sam makes it all go quiet.

 

Dean had bought this tape in Baltimore, from a shop with sticky floors and too much incense burning on the counter. He hadn’t even had the balls to steal the thing, because the day Dad bails him out for swiping gay porn is the day Dean eats his own socks.  No, he’d scrimped and saved and managed to snag two VHS tapes from the sale box in the corner. He’d washed his hands a bunch of times after.

 

“Feels so good, Dean.”  Sam knocks his head back against Dean’s shoulder, tilting his head until Dean has to kiss him.  Sometimes Dean feels like he’ll lose it if he can’t kiss Sam, when Dad’s been stuck around the house like the ghost of Jim Beam and he can’t steal any time alone.

 

Dean had carefully peeled off the labels with a razor blade.  After he’d shredded them and burned them for good measure, he’d made up cheesy porn names of his own and block-printed them on some masking tape. 

 

Dean knew how to hide in plain sight and the best way to keep his Dad away wasn’t to act like they were innocuous movies. He just had to make sure it was porn his Dad wouldn’t want to watch.  His dad likes girl-on-girl stuff, especially anything with babysitters and bored housewives.  He hates gangbangs and anything too violent and Dean knows he shouldn’t know this kind of shit about his family.  All he can do is use it.

 

Sam’s tongue still has that mint-hum of toothpaste on it, as clean on the inside as he is everywhere else.  Sam wants Dean to fuck him in the ass and where’s that dirty part of Dean’s gut now?  Dormant, like a snake sleeping inside him.

 

Sam turns to him, soft and pliant as he repositions himself to face Dean.  His legs fold easily alongside Dean’s own, flat feet tucked under his thighs. Sam’s always been so flexible.

 

Dean runs his hand up Sam’s back, counting off the little rungs of his vertebrae like a rosary.  Sam can’t see the television anymore.  Dean’s not sure which one of them cares less.

 

God, it’s good like this.  Sam’s been getting bigger faster than Dean can scrounge clothes for him but he always fits right here, pressed against Dean. His arms loop around Dean’s neck and his tongue dives between Dean’s lips.  Under the toothpaste even Sam’s spit tastes sweet to him.

 

“Don’t you wanna?”

 

Sam knows how to move his hips just right, little figure eights that drive the cleft of his ass over Dean’s dick. He looks down at Dean, the soft line of his bangs falling in his face.

 

“Yeah, fuck, of course, Sammy.”

 

Dean thinks about it constantly. Dean’s been thinking about it since he really shouldn’t have.  It lives inside him, an itch under his skin and Dean’s not sure what’ll happen once he scratches it.

 

“You were 14 when you did it.” Sam’s voice has the edge of a pout in it, that sulk that gets Dad’s hackles up and makes Dean want to pin him down and make Sam forget he wants anything else.

 

“It’s different,” Dean mumbles, feeling the rising tide of a lost argument swirling around him.  It’s so different, though, everything with Sam is.  Dean will drown in him one day and he won’t miss breathing.

 

“God, Sammy.”  Dean pulls him closer, presses all of him in, Sam’s cock slip-grinding into his belly and the long arch of his neck curling down to Dean.  Sam always hums while he grinds himself against Dean. It’s Dean’s favorite sound.

 

“I just.”  Dean sighs, inching down the couch until he’s face to face with Sam.

 

“Christ, Sammy.”  Sam’s on top of him but the weight on his chest is Dean’s and Dean’s alone.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Sam’s face shouldn’t look so sweet like this, flushed with his lips all pink, eyes wide.  Dean gets a lot of comments about his eyes but Sam’s are something else entirely. Sam knows so many things he shouldn’t and he knows Dean better than anything.

 

“You’d never hurt me.”  The certainty, and the hint of wounded surprise behind it, the way Sam looks at him – Dean’s breath catches and it’s all he can do to kiss Sam again.

 

“Never, never, Sammy, never.” Dean shakes his head, like he could ever say it enough times to believe himself. 

 

“Then why can’t we?”

 

Because he’ll never stop.  Because once Dean gets inside him he’ll never want to leave. Because Sam is everything good and all Dean wants to do is get him so dirty he’ll never be able to go anywhere else.

 

“We should, _Jesus_ , Sam.” Dean’s mind stutters as Sam reaches back, letting the tips of his fingers skate over the leaking slit of Dean’s cock.  He slides them down, pressing Dean’s cock into the warm V of his ass, so close.

 

“Soon, okay?”  Dean waits for his stomach to drop out but it doesn’t.  All he can feel is Sam all around him.

 

“The next time Dad’s away.”  Those times have been more and more frequent now that Dad and Sam can barely be in the same room without hissing at each other.

 

“You promise?”  Sam’s still pouting a little but his back’s not in it, Dean can tell.

 

Promises are such fragile things. Dad throws them around like old Pabst cans, littering the floor of half the shithole motels Sam’s grown up in. Dean isn’t too good to lie to Sam when he has to but he’s kept every promise he can offer up to his brother.

 

“Yeah, Sammy.”  Dean reaches back, threading his fingers through Sam’s, pressing down until his cock is molded to the smooth curve of Sam’s ass.  Moans drift in the background, tinny from the television’s crappy speakers.  Dean barely hears it over the thrum of Sam in his arms, blood rushing in his ears as Sam stills on top of him, waiting.

 

“I promise.”

 

Dean shifts, rutting up just enough to make Sam huff soft against him.  He grins, eyes slanting up to Sam’s as his cock glides against the soft pull of Sam’s skin.

 

“I just wanna take my time.”  He pushes a little, feeling the insistent press of Sam’s dick against his stomach.  There’s just enough friction to make Sam’s jaw twitch.  Dean licks his lips.

 

“We can pretend, okay?”

 

Dean can’t carry Sam around the way he used to but Sam still lets him bend and push, boneless under Dean’s hand when he wants to be. It’s easy to ply Sam off his lap, bend him over the couch.  The carpet digs in, threadbare and gritty from a hundred makeshift families settling for something to call home.  They’ll both have rug burned knees come morning, one more aching spot to touch in public.

 

They’ve done this before, long before Sam would ask for anything and Dean knew what he was asking for.  Their bodies slot together, Sam’s legs pressed tight where Dean crowds behind him.  Dean slides into the warm space Sam makes for him, cock skidding against the nap of Sam’s balls.

 

It’s sweaty, precome-slick and it would never be enough for him, not with anyone else.  Dean gets the angle just right, his cock trapped between Sam’s thighs and his hand threaded into Sam’s hair, back bent over him and there’s barely an inch of Sam he isn’t touching.  It smells like sweat and the soft, stripped scent of their off-brand shampoo.

 

Their skin sticks where they’re pressed together. Dean bucks into him, his neck craning down so he can lick at the divot under Sam’s jaw.  It’s stuck out so often these days, defiant and sulking every time Dad so much as looks at him.  It’s like Sam saves all his sweetness for this, his mouth slack and soft as he moans and arches back into the hard swell of Dean between his legs.

 

A bead of sweat escapes from Dean’s forehead and deftly nestles into Sam’s cheekbone.  Dean can hear the wet slide of himself against Sam’s skin, the slaps and shucks that echo over the endless piledriving of House Alpha Sigma Sigma. Dean could cherry-pick a million dirty things to snake down inside him right now, but it’s the way Sam shivers and whispers his name that turns him inside out.

 

Dean cleans them up after, sacrificing another sock to the stiff pile accumulating under the couch.  They’ll need to do laundry soon.

 

Sam doesn’t ask about it again, but he does cling to Dean’s neck and murmur his name.  Dean lets him fall asleep like that, long after the tape runs out and the screen flickers blue against Dean’s empty, tangled insides.

 

They lay in the same bed that night, but Sam’s the only one who sleeps.


End file.
